


Munich

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Undercover as Married, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: Natasha’s eyes are very, very green.This is something he has noticed before of course.One of many things he has noticed.One of many things he has tried not to notice.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Munich

**Author's Note:**

> **Note:** Takes place a few weeks after [Berlin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160631)

**xXx**

Natasha’s eyes are very, very green.

This is something he has noticed before of course.

One of many things he has noticed.

One of many things he has tried not to notice.

She comes to him, fingers plucking open the buttons of her blouse, those green eyes narrowed like a cat’s and he swallows, hard, backing up until the backs of his knees hit the chair and he sits as she shrugs it off her shoulders, as she hitches her skirt up her thighs to straddle him. His hands automatically land on her hips before slipping inside her blouse still tucked into the back of her skirt, fingers brushing the cuts on her back that are almost completely healed but not quite and he flashes on her looking up at him, her soft, husky, _“I would do other things…”_ and his breath stutters against her collarbone.

She shifts on his lap in response, her fingers sinking into his hair and tightening, and he tries not to groan, tries not to be so fucking affected, but he is so _fucking affected_ and she knows it, she can feel it. She grabs his chin making him look at her because he keeps ducking his head like he’s never done this before like he’s a kid and fucking green and _green, green eyes_ looking down at him…

She’s breathing hard.

He’s fucking panting.

He can’t read her expression at all.

She shifts again, her thumb sweeping over his lower lip slowly, gently, once, twice, before slipping it inside his mouth and his lips close over it, his eyes not leaving her eyes as she takes a quick sharp breath that sparks every nerve in his body. She leans in close, breathes against his ear a hot, _“Ready?”_ and he inadvertently bites down when she sucks his earlobe into his mouth and the sound she makes when he does, that _sound_ …

Her hand drops to his abdomen that spasms under her fingers spidering downwards to pluck at his buckle and he rasps a _“yeah,”_ quickly undoing his belt and positioning his thumb over the button built into the chape.

He gives her an imperceptible nod and she pulls her blouse out from her skirt and lets it drop to the floor.

The signal.

The go.

He presses the button and she grinds herself down into his lap, rocking on his thighs, setting the rhythm, her hands on either side of his face, his clasping her hips under her skirt.

They have 60 seconds to record for the loop.

60 seconds and he starts the countdown in his head as she whimpers, as he lets loose the groan he’s been holding back and they put on a show for the douchebag watching from the camera bolted in the corner of the room.

Her forehead falls against his and at some point their lips find each other and suddenly they’re kissing open-mouthed and gasping, grasping, desperate and deep, and he chants her alias over and over in his head because if he moans _Natasha_ they’re fucked, and he can feel it, her name in his mouth just waiting to tumble into hers, and it’s a sobering realization, how near a thing it actually is and he tries to kiss her harder to stop himself from doing it but she suddenly pulls back in one fluid motion, swinging a leg around to dismount and thank fuck she was keeping count because he dropped off the second their lips met.

And it’s a fucking problem.

It’s been a fucking problem all goddamn night.

**xXx**

_They don’t look at each other during the briefing. Not on the jet either, but the second they enter Aulenbach’s grounds they both slip right back into the characters they’d debuted months ago in Munich when they’d crashed his gala and lured him in with their performance on the ballroom floor._

_Romanoff’s an excellent dancer, which he already knew._

_He’s not half bad himself, which she didn’t, and there was a moment when he expertly spun her out and reeled her smoothly back in where he saw the first genuine smile he’s ever seen from her and it startled him, jolted him. And then her hands were slipping under his tuxedo jacket, her mouth was at his neck biting, sucking, and he backburnered that sudden pang because he knew Aulenbach was making his way towards them unable to resist an insanely hot for each other mercenary married couple who buys chemical weapons to sell on the black market._

_The fucker’s into death and **watching**._

_They were catnip._

_Natasha had gotten the tracker on him within 90 seconds of their introduction and he’d eventually scored them an invitation to drop by his office to discuss the possibility of a “future partnership” while casually feeling her up under the asshole’s appreciative gaze._

_When he’d muttered a “Sorry” on their way out she’d rolled her eyes and snapped, **“Ne bud’ rebenko,”** but still accepted his high five once they were clear of the scene._

_And she smiled again._

_Tried to hide it, but he saw. He noticed._

_Tried not to notice._

_S.H.E.I.L.D had been able to pick up a major buyer after Aulenbach’s post-gala meeting that night. They tracked the location just as planned, swooped right in after he left and caught themselves a nice little birdie, made them sing, and now they have someone inside Aulenbach’s very closed circuit feeding them info._

_Like who they needed to vouch for them in order to actually get somewhere with this guy, to get a real invite._

_Tonight’s invite._

_They’d been reaching out an appropriate amount for interested-but-not-overly-eager over the last several months and hadn’t heard anything until this week._

_He and Natasha hadn’t even seen each other in the last three except in passing. He got tagged for another mission right after they got back from Berlin and eagerly disappeared into his prep while she had been sent first to the infirmary for her wounds and then into trainings and one-on-one assessments with Coulson and Hill for the rest of the month._

_The last time they had been alone was on the roof of the extraction point, silent and smelling of bleach, her in his jacket which still has her blood in it and him wondering what the fuck just happened._

_He’s still wondering._

_They flirt with Aulenbach as he shows off schematics, blueprints, contracts, Natasha’s hand resting possessively on his ass, his arm wrapped around her waist, his fingers and then his hand dipping casually beneath the band of her skirt as they discuss a trial partnership and he suddenly remembers chasing a bead of blood that didn’t need to be caught and his hand low on her abdomen, her bare skin under his palm just like this._

_Her remembers her back to his chest and his hand in her dress, her mouth inches from his as she looked over her shoulder at him just the way she’s looking now._

_His eyes drop to her lips._

_He’s always been good at sublimating desire, labelling it as inappropriate, inconvenient, **off the table** and focusing even more intensely on the job at hand._

_Case in point: He had never cleaned a safehouse so fucking well in his life._

_He should be hyper-focused right now on the target but he’s not._

_She smiles, tilts her chin up to him, the tip of her tongue just grazing his upper lip before she turns suddenly back to Aulenbach with an “of course!” and he realizes he’s just missed the invite to stay the night that they’d been waiting for and mentally chastises himself._

_Aulenbach slides a spindly finger down Clint’s arm still wrapped around Natasha’s waist, murmurs, “Now that we’re done with business… we can move on to more… pleasurable things…”_

_Clint smirks, “Like what?” ready for it, and Aulenbach looks him straight in the eye when he says, “I want you to watch while I fuck your wife.”_

_And that he was **not** ready for._

_That was not what they’d been told he’d ask for, what he’d want, what he’d expect._

_The urge to punch him in the throat stiffens his entire arm around her and Natasha bucks her hip against him, chuckling throatily as she reaches out to grab hold of the fucker’s tie, unfazed._

_She pulls him in close to the both of them, Aulenbach allowing it, loving it._

_“I want **you** to watch.”_

_The old goat smiles, bows his head and holds up his hands in acquiescence._

_Original plan it is._

**xXx**

They slip down the hallway and make their way to Aulenbach’s office to copy, photograph and bug the shit out of everything while he jacks off to what he thinks is a live feed of them fucking in the guest room.

In a show of faith/trust/arrogance, he’d told his guards to watch the grounds while they engaged in _post-business pleasantries_ , so there’s no one to contend with in the house, just the cameras that Natasha had hacked into hours ago during a trip to the powder room when they first arrived. How she’d managed it with an armed escort he has no idea and is dying to ask since the guy came back in one piece and seemingly none the wiser.

He’s beginning to suspect Aulenbach and his crew are actually a bunch of fucking idiots. 

Or, perhaps more accurately, she’s just that fucking good.

Because she’s really fucking good. 

And they’re really fucking good together.

They’re back in position on the vintage wingback chair that’s more expensive than literally everything he personally owns in under 5 loops, Natasha’s lips close enough to his that they almost kiss again on the whispered countdown

_3_

_2_

_1_

He pushes the button again, ending the loop, and Natasha cries out, shuddering against him and he follows suit, his mouth on her throat, her perfume on his tongue and it’s playacting, it’s all been playacting, but his body is doing a shit job of understanding that right now and has been doing a shit job all night.

But it’s done now. They got what they needed, got everything in place, and were apparently successful in remaining completely undetected thus far as no alarms have gone off, no footsteps are charging down the hall…

They stay clasped together for a moment, breathing hard and buzzing with shared adrenaline. He tilts his head back to grin at her, a little giddy from it, and she pauses for a moment, her hands still on his face and he can’t read her at a-

She kisses him.

Slow and unhurried, she kisses him and he hardly notices when the power finally blows.

He nearly falls off the chair trying to follow her mouth when she breaks away again to cross to the door and call out into the hall, “Oskar? Everything ok?”

He joins her there as Aulenbach screams, _“You two fucking stay put!”_ and Natasha turns to him with a smirk that disappears as soon as she meets his eyes again.

Even in the dark, so fucking green.

She kissed him.

_You kissed me._

She kissed him when she didn’t have to.

Aulenbach’s swears and calls for his guards to search the perimeter ring down the hallway and she takes a step towards him, she puts her hands on his chest and pushes, gently guiding him backwards to the bed now, to the bed and

_“The camera isn’t on anymore…”_

he murmurs as he flops back onto it obediently, glancing up at it to make sure the red light’s off, the backup generator hasn’t kicked in yet.

She climbs up his body anyway, catches his hips between her thighs as he continues, his voice still low, barely audible, _“No one’s watching us-”_

_“He’s going to come in here any moment.”_

She reaches behind her back to undo her bra and yeah, makes sense for Aulenbach to walk in and find them starting on a second round, it’s what they were supposed to be doing, what they were doing, they have no idea why everything cut out, no idea, none, and he’s flashing on Berlin again, her naked like this in Berlin again and testing him? manipulating him? wanting him? testing him? manipulating him? testing him? wanting-

She takes his hand, puts it on her breast, her other hand dropping down to his half-undone zipper while his clutches the bedsheet.

Footsteps storm down the hall as she drags it lower and she dives down to his mouth as he rises to meet hers just as Aulenbach comes in.

“You two! _Out!_ ”

He flops back onto the bed, drawls, “What’s goin on, man?” and slides his hand down Natasha’s sternum as she sits up, arching her back for Aulenbach’s benefit. “Everything cool?”

“We had a… a power surge…”

Natasha giggles at that, and he grins up at her, lifting his hips suggestively beneath her, “That’s new ain’t it, baby?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this… another time…” Aulenbach tears his eyes away from the two of them to glare down the hall and snap, _“Did you get it back?”_

_“Just about to reboot, sir.”_

And the second they do, S.H.E.I.L.D. will be in the system.

“Can you hand me that, Oskar?” Natasha points demurely at her bra near his feet and he picks it up, holding it a beat too long before handing it to her.

She tilts her head at her blouse still puddled on the floor near the chair, “And that…?”

She takes her time putting both on, Clint still beneath her as Aulenbach watches, enjoying it despite his anxiety and he barks again with his eyes on Clint’s bare chest to the underling down the hall, “Status!”

_“We’re up, sir! Everything looks good.”_

“Does that happen a lot? Cuz our buyer’s not gon-”

“They have nothing to worry about. I have backups of everything and a camera system that is state of the art…”

He looks pained as Clint lifts his hips to zip up his jeans and he pauses with his hand on the closure, lower back arched off the bed, Natasha kneeling between his spread knees. “You, ah, sure you want us to go, Oskar?”

He swallows, wrestles.

“I think… that would be for the best… yes…”

Natasha pouts and takes Clint’s hands, pulling him up from the bed. She tosses his shirt at him, her own barely buttoned as she shrugs at Aulenbach, “Til next time, then,” and kisses his cheek as she passes.

She takes Clint’s hand again, leading him out as he yanks his shirt down over his torso.

They’re halfway down the hall when Aulenbach says, “You realize if Krieger hadn’t vouched for you, you’d both be dead right now.”

Clint raises his hand, and without missing a beat Natasha turns a circle like a music box ballerina under his arm and answers in her borrowed American accent, _“Good thing he did.”_

**xXx**

They get to the car, drive off the property still in character, aware their vehicle might now be bugged. They small talk, dirty talk, chemical-weapons-dealer-shop-talk until they get to the rental place and ditch the car. They take another to their pickup point and even though they’re officially _Clint and Natasha_ again and not _Zeke_ _and Daphne_ , they don’t speak at all until they’re in the jet and he coughs, he clears his throat, he says, even though he knows she is because she always is,

“You ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“Ok. Just checkin’.”

Pause.

“Good jo-”

“You were skittish.”

“Huh?”

_“Skittish.”_

He frowns.

“Yeah, I know.”

“We have to be convincing, Barton.”

He looks at her, tries to joke, “I’m pretty sure we were.”

And the silence that falls after that feels heavy. Berlin-roof heavy.

Loaded like her hand travelling down to the small of his back as they walked down that long hallway to the guest room tonight. Like her thumb in his mouth and her hot slow kiss 30 seconds past the power surge.

“I propositioned you,” she says suddenly. “In Berlin. It made this job difficult. For you.”

He glances at the cockpit, checking that the pilot’s headset is clamped tight over his ears and he leans back against the curved metal wall that hums beneath him, tries to be as casual as possible since she seems to be open to talking which isn’t usual and he doesn’t want to spook her with how much he needs to know what the fuck that was about. Doesn’t want to admit how much it’s fucked with his head since even though she obviously knows.

And maybe that was the plan all along.

The sneaking suspicion he’s held at bay is the fact that just because he hadn’t taken her up on her offer doesn’t mean she hadn’t accomplished exactly what she meant to.

They’re partners, but she’s still on probation and Fury requires reports from him specifically regarding her behavior after every mission.

He never filed one for Berlin.

He thought about it and didn’t and that is a huge fucking red flag that he’s been compromised.

“Yeah. The fuck was that about, Natasha?”

And he is on high alert now, waiting for her to lie, to flirt, to charm. He had been warned when this started, had been shown her extended file. She had a lot of Valentine's ops under her belt and it had been made clear to him that she may attempt to infiltrate in that way.

He just hadn’t expected it by Berlin. After so many months. They’d had some rough spots here and there – mostly with her tendency towards pointed independence but she had never tried to seduce him. If anything, he was the one who would sometimes find his attention wandering to places it shouldn’t. She had never been anything but upstanding in her dealings with S.H.E.I.L.D., with him, but he’s not fucking dumb. She excels at the long game.

She turns her head to look at him. And then her whole body.

The air between them thrums like the steel wall of the jet beneath his back and he has been nothing but completely unprepared when it comes to her these past 24 hours because Natasha is, at all times, cool as the proverbial fucking cucumber, but she’s agitated right now. She’s upset and she’s letting him see it.

And he does not like that he does not know how much of it he can trust. How much of _her_ when it comes to the interpersonal. When it comes to something real and not just survival.

“We are good together. In the field. When I… when I trust you, you agree?”

He swallows, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

She looks at him, green, green eyes. “I don’t want that to be compromised. So.” She swallows. “I’m sorry, Clint.”

Pause.

She looks away and then abruptly back at him.

“You thought I was testing you. Manipulating you.”

“Crossed my mind.”

“I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t say anything, and she looks away again with a frustrated sigh before muttering, exasperated, “ _You’re not unattractive, Barton._ ”

He blinks. Coughs.

“And I… I am not used to… trustworthy men. So perhaps… I made things confusing. For myself. And you. I wasn’t testing you. I’m not. And I would like you to trust me. Someday. So… _Ya budu derzhat’ svoi ruki pri sebe._ ” Pause. “Unless we are on this job, of course… That would be suspicious.”

“Yeah. Yeah it would be. Suspicious.”

They sit in silence for a bit until he feels her eyes again.

Green, green eyes.

“You’re smiling,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, well, you called me _Clint_.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **“Ne bud’ rebenko”** _(“Don’t be a child.”)_  
>  **“Ya budu derzhat’ svoi ruki pri sebe”** _(“I will keep my hands to myself”)_


End file.
